Old Reo, Ah, Ned, is that you? I have done] Fanny. Dear sir, may I-[Showing a Pamy best to follow my dear son's example: you per, Old Revel nods, and chucks her under see what it has ended in-ruin! the chin] Here, dear Frank! look, Dame! Y. Rev. Be comforted, sir, all I have is yours. Old Rec. All he has-[Aside]-not a guinea! Y. Rec. I'll labour for you: no obstacle shall deter: I'll rise every morning at ten Old Rev. Rise with the lark at ten! hear that, ye ploughmen. Y. Rec. I'll part with my billiard table! [A Noise of several Voices without.] Enter DEXter. [They come forward. Y. Rev. Mr. Ryeland, I have wronged, insulted Frank. Enough! I perceive, sir, you are sorry for what you have done; but one blow demands another; 'twas this hand that gave it - thus I return it! [Takes Young Revel's hand, and bows. Y.Rev. Generous fellow! be my friend, my companion! Dame. Excuse him there. It would be a pity to spoil an excellent farmer by making Dex. [Aside] My new master ruined! I him a shabby sort of gentleman. No: we'll must rat1). keep as we are; and while agriculture affords Old Rev. What's the matter, my dear Dexter? health aud competence to the cultivator, and Dex. Ugly reports have reached your cre- good subjects to the state, I trust its efforts ditors: they clamously demand their money, will be justly estimated, and its children reor your person. Old Rev. My person! Why, as I feel pretty comfortable here, you had better pay them. spected. Enter DEXTER. Dex. I've cleared the house of the scoun [Rises. Dex. 'Tis the best way when it happens to drels. [Significantly. be convenient. Old Rev. Here are a few thousands. [Pulling out notes] Will these do, Dexter? Old Rev. What, all gone? Did Old Rev. [With emphasis] But one. Dex. Not ruined? Oh! about ship again! you ever see these dice before? Refund [Point[Aside] No, Sir; I'll not pay the scoundrels ing to Frank] or go. Bob, see your friend a farthing! to dare to molest a noble gentle- out.-Embrace him at parting. [Apart to him] man with their insolent demands! I'll ride the Give him a Cornish hug 1). honse of the rascals. enormous amount. [Exit. Y. Rev. Sir, you have dropt notes to an [Picking up notes. Old Rev. Never mind, Ned, put them in your pocket. Y. Rev. Ah! hopes dawn! light flashes! Sir Arthur, you are not the scoundrel I took you for. Dear father, you are not ruined! Old Rev. [With Emphasis] What! could I, in one day, shamefully dissipate the product of fifty years' honourable industry? Could I, at my age, seriously practise the profligacy wept to behold at yours? Y. Rev. I kiss the rod! Your discipline has been severe; but the cure is radical. The father has, indeed, at heart the son's interest. Old Rev. Then let the son have at heart the father's principle: you are restored to affluence-how will you use it? Y. Rev. In proving myself worthy the forgiveness of such a wife!-in fully estimating the blessing of such a father! Old Rev. Then my plan has triumphed, and I feel a giant refreshed. 1) Desert my party. Butter. I will. [Exeunt Dexter and Butter, Lady Stan. Dear sir, to your correcting discipline I owe my happiness. Y. Rev. And Ï— Sir Arth. And all. ARTHUR MURPHY WAS born near Elphin, in the county of Roscommon, Ireland, December 27, 1750. His father was a merchant in Dublin and his mother, whose maiden name was French, was the daughter of Arthur French, of Tyrone, in the county of Galway. When young, our author was brought to London by his mother; whence he was sent to an aunt, (Mrs. Here he remained Plunket) then residing at Boulogne, who entered her nephew at the College of St. Omers, in 1740 near seven years, and on his return spent two years in the counting-house of Mr. Hanold, an eminent merchant in Cork. Leaving this place in consequence of a theatrical dispute, in which he had taken 190 active a part, he came to lown, and obtained admission into the counting-house of Ironside and Belchier, bankers. How long Mr. Murphy continued in this situation we are not informed; but when he relinquished it, having cultivated a taste for literature, and conceived a disgust to trade, he commenced author. In the year 1752, he published The Gray's Inn Journal, which continued until October 1754. His next attempt was on the stage, where he appeared at Covent Garden Theatre, in the character of Othello, October 18, 1754; but though he possessed figure, voice, genius, and an accurate conception of the parts he acted; yet he soon found that he was not likely to add to his fame in a situation where excellence is very seldom to be met with. At the end of the first year he removed to Drury Lane, where he remained only until the season closed, at the conclusion of which he renounced the theatres as an actor, and resumed his former employment of a writer. The violence of parties at this juncture running very high, our author undertook the defence of the unpopular side, and began a periodical paper, 6th November 1756, called The Test, which was answered by the late Owen Ruffhead, Esquire, in another, under the title of The Contest. To prevent his being obliged to rely solely on the precarious state of an author, he now determined to study the law; but, on his first application to the societies of both the Temples and Gray's Inn, he had the mortification to be refused admission, on the illiberal ground of his having acted on the stage. He was, however, received as a member of Lincoln's Inn, and in due time called to the bar; after which he gradually withdrew himself from the public as a writer. At the beginning of the reign of King George III. he was employed to write against the famous North Briton, and for a considerable sum published a weekly paper, called The Auditor; but being disgusted, as is supposed, at some improper behaviour among his party, be from that time gave up all attention to politics, and devoted himself wholly to the study of his profession as a lawyer. He published an edition of Henry Fieldings works, with a life of the author, in 1762. His translation of Tacitus, his poems, prologues, etc. are well known, and have been justly admired. His Life of David Garrick, however, did him no credit. He was many years a commissioner of bankrupts, in which office he continued to his death, which happened at Knightsbridge, the 18th of June 18c5. THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE. Comedy of two acts, by Arthur Murphy, Performed at Covent Garden. 1776. This piece affords a very striking proof of the capriciousness of public taste, and the injustice of some public determinations. It is no other than the What we must all come to, of the same author, with a new title. On its first appearance it was condemned almost without a hearing, and lay dormant for several years, until Mr. Lewis ventmed to produce it again at his benefit; when it met with universal applause, and still continues to be frequently acted and favourably received. The following anecdote is related by Mr. Ryley (in his entertaining work called The Itinerant) of a country manager, named Davies: When Mr. Ross, formerly the Edinburgh Roscius, was at Lyme, in Dorsetshire. in a very infirm state of health, being a general favourite among the visitors, Manager Davies applied to him, and he bespoke Three Weeks after Marriage. Davies undertook the part of Sir Charles; and Mis Stanley was quite at home in Lady Racket, having often played it with Mr. Dimond, of the Bath Theatre, whose business she wrote down for Davies's instruction. One thing, which she particularly desired. was, that when they are parting after the first quarrel, and she says, "Won't you go to bed?? he should reply, "No, Madam, l'il never go to bed with a woman who does not know what's trumps. It is supposed that he had taken particular pains to be correct; but not being at all easy in the part, and secing the eyes of the great actor Ross intently fixed upon him from the stage-box, when the fatal question was put, "Come, Sir Charles, won' you go to bed?" he replied, "No, Madam, I'll never go to bed with a woman that trumps !? The house was in a roar. Davies, perceiving his mistake, made it worse by hawling out, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not mean any such thing; 1 meant trumps at cards-diamonds, spades, clubs-that is, 1-" and off she stage he ran, and was with great difficulty persuaded to appear again that evening. Enter WOODLEY and DIMITY. affairs. Dim. Attention! to be sure you did not fall asleep in their company; but what then? -You should have entered into their characters, play'd with their humours, and sacrificed to their absurdities. Wood. But if my temper is too frankDim. Frank, indeed! yes, you have been Wood. Nay, but listen to reason, Mrs. Di- frank enough to ruin yourself.-Have not you mity-has not your master, Mr. Drugget, in- to do with a rich old shopkeeper, retired vited me down to his country seat, in order from business with an hundred thousand pounds. to give me his daughter Nancy in marriage; in his pocket, to enjoy the dust of the Lonand with what pretence can he now break off? don road, which he calls living in the countDim. What pretence!-you put a body ry—and yet you must find fault with his siout of all patience-But go on your own way, tuation!-What if he has made a ridiculous sir; my advice is all lost upon you. gimcrack of his house and gardens, you know Wood. You do me injustice, Mrs. Dimity his heart is set upon it; and could not you -your advice has governed my whole con- have commended his taste? But you must duct Have not I fixed an interest in the be too frank!-Those walks and alleys are young lady's heart? too regular-those evergreens should not be Dim. An interest in a fiddlestick! - you cut into such fantastic shapes. And thus you ought to have made love to the father and advise a poor old mechanic, who delights in mother-what, do you think the way to get every thing that's monstrous, to follow nature a wife, at this time of day, is by speaking -Oh, you're likely to be a successful lover! fine things to the lady you have a fancy for? -That was the practice, indeed; but things are alter'd now-you must address the old Dim. Make him your father-in-law first— people, sir; and never trouble your head And then the mother; how have you play'd about your mistress-that's the way of the your cards in that quarter?-She wants a tinworld now. sel man of fashion for her second daughterWood. But you know, my dear Dimity, "Don't you see," says she, "how happy my the old couple have received every mark of eldest girl is made by marrying sir Charles attention from me. Racket? She has been married three entire Wood. But, why should I not save a father-in-law from being a laughing-stock? weeks, and not so much as one angry word | Dim. And then, Mr. Lovelace, I reckonhas pass'd between them-Nancy shall have a Nan. Pshaw! I don't like him; he talks to man of quality too." me as if he was the most miserable man in Wood. And yet I know sir Charles Racket the world, and the confident thing looks so perfectly-well. pleas'd with himself all the while. I want to Dim. Yes, so do I; and I know he'll make marry for love, and not for card-playing-l his lady wretched at last-But what then? should not he able to bear the life my sister You should have humour'd the old folks-you leads with sir Charles Racket-and I'll forfeit should have been a talking empty fop to the my new cap, if they don't quarrel soon. good old lady, and to the old gentleman an Dim. Oh! fie! no! they won't quarrel yet admirer of his taste in gardening. But you awhi-A quarrel in three weeks after marhave lost him--he is grown fond of his beau riage, would be somewhat of the quickestLovelace, who is here in the house with him; By-and-by we shall hear of their whims and the coxcomb ingratiates himself by flattery, their humours-Well, but if you don't like and you're undone by frankness. Mr. Lovelace, what say you to Mr. Woodley? Nan. I don't know what to say. Re-enter WOODLEY. Wood. And yet, Dimity, I won't despair. Dim. And yet you have reason to despair; a million of reasons-To-morrow is fix'd for the wedding-day; sir Charles and his lady Wood. My sweetest angel! I have heard are to be here this very night-they are en-all, and my heart overflows with love and gag'd, indeed, at a great rout in town but gratitude. they take a bed here, notwithstanding.-The Nan. Ah! but I did not know you was family is sitting up for them; Mr. Drugget listening. You should not have betray'd me will keep you all up in the next room there, so, Dimity; I shall be angry with you. till they arrive- and to-morrow the business Dim. Well, I'll take my chance for thatis over-and yet you don't despair!-hush!-Run both into my room, and say all your hold your tongue; here comes Lovelace.- pretty things to one another there, for here Step in, and I'll devise something, I warrant comes the old gentleman-make haste away. you. [Exit Woodley] The old folks shall [Exeunt Woodley and Nancy. not have their own way-'tis enough to vex Enter DRUGget. a body, to see an old father and mother mar Drug. A forward presuming coxcomb!rying their daughter as they please, in spite Dimity, do you step to Mrs. Drugget, and send of all I can do. So, here comes our Nancy. her hither. Enter NANCY. Dim. Yes, sir-It works upon him. I see. [Aside, and exit. Nan. Well, Dimity, what's to become of me? Drug. The yew-trees ought not to be cut, Dim. My stars! what makes you up, miss? because they'll help to keep off the dust, and -I thought you were gone to bed! I am too near the road already -a sorry, Nan. What should I go to bed for? Only ignorant fop!-When I am in so fine a sito tumble and toss, and fret and be uneasy-tuation, and can see every carriage that goes they are going to marry me, and I am fright- by.. And then to abuse the nurseryman's ened out of my wits. rarities! A finer sucking pig in lavender, Dim. Why then you're the only young with sage growing in his belly, was never lady within fifty miles round, that would be seen! And yet he wants me not to have it frighten'd at such a thing. Nan. Ah! if they would let me choose for myself. Dim. Don't you like Mr. Lovelace? Nan. My mamma does, but I don't; I don't mind his being a man of fashion, not I. But have it I will. There's a fine tree of knowledge too, with Adam and Eve in juniper; Eve's nose not quite grown, but it's thought in the spring it will be very forward -I'll have that too, with the serpent in groundivy-two poets in wormwood-I'll have them both. Ay, and there's a lord mayor's feast in honeysuckle, and the whole court of alderNan. Ah! I know there's a fashion for new men in hornbeam; with the dragon of Wantbonnets, and a fashion for dressing the hair-ley in box-all-all-I'll have 'em all, let my but I never heard of a fashion for the heart. wife and. Mr. Lovelace say what they will. Dim. Why then, my dear, the heart mostly follows the fashion now. Din. And, pray, can you do better than follow the fashion? Nan. Does it?-pray who sets the fashion of the heart? Dim. All the fine ladies in London, o'my conscience. Enter MRS. DRUGGET. Mrs. D. Did you send for me, lovey? Drug. The yew-trees shall be cut into the giants of Guildhall, whether you will or not. Mrs. D. Sure my own dear will do as he Nan. And what's the last new fashion, pleases. pray? Drug. And the pond, though you praise Dim. Why, to marry any fop that has a the green banks, shall be wall'd round, and few, deceitful, agreeable appearances about I'll have a little fat boy in marble, spouting him; something of a pert phrase, a good ope- up water in the middle. Mrs. D. My sweet, who hinders you? rator for the teeth, and a tolerable tailor. Nan. And do they marry without loving? Dim. Oh! marrying for love has been a whole catalogue-Do you think, after retiring great while out of fashion. to live all the way here, almost four miles Nan. Why, then I'll wait till that fashion from London, that I won't do as I please in comes up again. my own garden? Mrs. D. My dear, but why are you in such of girls; our tempers accord like unisons in a passion? music. Drug. I'll have the lavender pig, and the Drug. Ah! that's what makes me happy in Adam and Eve, and the dragon of Wantley, my old days; my children and my garden and all of 'em-and there shan't be a more are all my care. romantic spot on the London road than mine. Sir C. And my friend Lovelace-he is to Mrs. D. I'm sure it's as pretty as hands have our sister Nancy, I find. can make it. Drug. Why my wife is so minded. Drug. I did it all myself, aud I'll do more Sir C. Oh, by all means, let her be made -And Mr. Lovelace shan't have my daughter. happy-A very pretty fellow Lovelace-And Mrs. D. No! what's the matter now Mr. as to that Mr.Woodley I think you call Drugget? him-he is but a plain, underbred, ill-fashioned sort of a-nobody knows him; he is not one of us-Ob, by all means marry her to one of us. Drug. I believe it must be so-Would you take any refreshment? Drug. He shall learn better manners than to abuse my house and gardens. You put him in the head of it, but I'll dissappoint ye both-And so you may go and tell Mr. Lovelace that the match is quite off. Mrs. D. I can't comprehend all this, not I —but I'll tell him so, if you please, my dear -I am willing to give myself pain, if it will give you pleasure: must I give myself pain? -Don't ask me, pray don't-I don't like pain. Drug. I am resolv'd, and it shall be so. Mrs. D. Let it be so then. [Cries] Oh! oh! cruel man! I shall break my heart if the match is broke off-if it is not concluded to-morrow, send for an undertaker, and bury me the next day. Drug. How! I don't want that neither- Drug. I am your lord and master, my dear, but not your executioner-Before George, it must never be said that my wife died of too much compliance-Cheer up, my love-and this affair shall be settled as soon as sir Charles and lady Racket arrive. Mrs. D. You bring me to life again-You know, my sweet, what an happy couple sir Charles and his lady are Why should not we make our Nancy as happy? Re-enter DIMITY. Dim. Sir Charles and his lady, ma'am. Sir C. Nothing in nature-it is time to re tire. Sir C. Bon repos. Drug Going out] My lady Racket, I'm glad to hear how happy you are, I won't detain you now-there's your good man waiting for you-good night, my girl. [Exit. Sir C. I must humour this old putt, in order to be remember'd in his will. Enter LADY RACKET. Lady R. O la!-I'm quite fatigu'd-I can hardly move-why don't you help me, you barbarous man? Sir C. There, take my arm- Was ever thing so pretty made to walk? Lady R. But I won't be laugh'd at—I don't love you. Sir C. Don't you? Lady R. No. Dear me! this glove! why don't you help me off with my glove? pshaw ! -You awkward thing, let it alone; you an't fit to be about me, I might as well not be Mrs. D. Oh! charming! I'm transported married, for any use you are of-reach me a with joy-Where are they? I long to see chair-you have no compassion for me-I am 'em! so glad to sit down-why do you drag me to routs?-You know I hate 'em. [Exit. Dim. Well, sir; the couple are arriv'd. Drug. Yes, they do live happy indeed. Dim. But how long will it last? Drug. How long! don't forbode any ill, you jade-don't, I say-It will last during their lives, I hope. Dim. Well, mark the end of it-Sir Charles, I know, is gay and good humour'd-but be can't bear the least contradiction, no, not in the merest trifle. Drug. Hold your tongue-hold your tongue. Dim. Yes, sir, I have done and yet there is in the composition of sir Charles a certain humour, which, like the flying gout, gives no disturbance to the family till it settles in the head-When once it fixes there, mercy on every body about him! but here he comes. Enter SIR CHARLES RACKET. Sir C. Oh! there's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do. Lady R. But I'm out of humour; I lost all my money. Sir C. How much. Lady R. Three hundred. Sir C. Never fret for that--I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness. Lady R. Don't you?-Not value three hundred pounds to please me? Sir C. You know I don't. Lady R. Ah! you fond fool! - But I hate gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury-Do you know that I was frightened at myself several times to-night—I had [Exit. an huge oath at the very tip of my tongue. Sir C. Had ye? Lady R. I caught myself at it—and so I Sir C. My dear sir, I kiss your hand-but bit my lips-and then I was cramm'd up in why stand on ceremony? To find you up a corner of the room with such a strange thus late, mortifies me beyond expression. party at a whist-table, looking at black and Drug. "Tis but once in a way, sir Charles. red spots-did you mind 'em? Sir C. My obligations to you are inexpressible; you have given me the most amiable Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere. Lady R. Well, sir! ha, ha, ha! able woman, Mrs. Nightshade-She behav'd it's the clearest case in the world, I'll make it so strangely to her husband, a poor, inoffen- plain in a moment. sive, good-natur'd, good sort of a good-fornothing kind of man-but she so teaz'd him -"How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head, and so has a pin-You're a numscull, you know you are-Ma'am, he has the poorest head in the world, he does not know what he is about; you know you don't-Ah, fie! I'm asham'd of you!" [With a sneering Laugh. Sir C. I had four cards left-a trump was led-they were six-no, no, no, they were seven, and we nine-then, you know-the beauty of the play was to Lady R. And sure the play for the odd Sir C. Death and fury! can't you hear me? Sir C. Zoons! hear me, I say-Will you hear me? more of whist Lady R. Well, now it's amazing to me, that you can't see it give me leave, sir Sir C. She has serv'd to divert you, I see. Charles- your left hand adversary had led Lady R. And then, to crown all-there was his last trump-and he had before finess'd my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eter- the club, and rough'd the diamond-now if nal volubility of nothing, out of all season, you had put on your diamondtime, and place-In the very midst of the Sir C. Zoons! madam, but we play'd for game she begins-"Lard, ma'am, I was ap- the odd trick. prehensive I should not be able to wait on your la'ship-my poor little dog, Pompey-trickthe sweetest thing in the world—a spade led! -there's the knave -I was fetching a walk, me'm, the other morning in the Park-a fine frosty morning it was-I love frosty weather of all things-let me look at the last trick- Lady R. I never heard the like in my life. and so, me'm, little Pompey-and if your la' [Hums a Tune, and walks about fretfully. ship was to see the dear creature pinch'd Sir C. Why then you are enough to prowith the frost, and mincing his steps along voke the patience of a stoic. [Looks at her; the Mall with his pretty, little, innocent face she walks about, and laughs uneasily]Very -I vow I don't know what to play-and so, well, madam-you know no more of the game me'em, while I was talking to captain Flim- than your father's leaden Hercules on the top sey-your la'ship knows captain Flimsey-of the house-you know no nothing but rubbish in my hand-I can't help it)-and so, me'm, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey-the dear creature has the heart of a lion, but who can resist five at once?-And so Pompey barked for assistance-the hurt he received was upon his chest-the doctor would not advise him Sir C. Madam, it shall be as I please-I'll to venture out till the wound is heal'd, for order my chariot this moment. [Going] [ fear of an inflammation-Pray what's trumps?" know how the cards should be play'd as well Sir C. My dear, you'd make a most excel- as any man in England, that let me tell you. lent actress. [Going] And when your family were standLady R. Well, now let's go to rest-but, ing behind counters, measuring out tape, and sir Charles, how shockingly you play'd that bartering for Whitechapel needles, my anlast rubber, when I stood looking over you! cestors, my ancestors, madam, were squanSir C. My love, I play'd the truth of the game. dering away whole estates at cards; whole Lady R. No, indeed, my dear, you play'd estates, my lady Racket. [She hums a Tune, it wrong. and he looks at her] Why then, by all that's under- dear to me, I'll never exchange another word with you, good, bad, or indifferent-Lookye, allowed my lady Racket-thus it stood the trump being led, it was then my business. Sir C. Po! nonsense! you don't stand it. Lady R. I beg your pardon, I'm to play better than you. Sir C. All conceit, my dear; I was perfectly right. Lady R. No such thing, sir Charles; the diamond was the play. Sir C. Po! po! ridiculous! the club was the card, against the world. Lady R. Oh! no, no, no, I say it was the diamond. Sir C. Zounds! madam, I say it was the club. Lady R. What do you fly into such a passion for? Sir C. 'Sdeath and fury! do you think I don't know what I'm about? I tell you once more the club was the judgment of it. Lady R. May be so-have it your own way, [Walks about and sings. Sir C. Vexation you're the strangest woman that ever liv'd; there's no conversing with you-Look'ye here, my lady Racket 1) This is said in reply to a look of astonishment from her partner at ber playing such bad cards. I than he does of gardening. Lady R. Ha, ha, ha! [Takes out a Glass, and settles her Hair. Sir C. You're a vile woman, and I'll not sleep another night under one roof with you. Lady R. As you please, sir. Lady R. To play the diamond, to be sure. Sir C. Damn it, I have done with you for ever, and so you may tell your father. [Exit. Lady R. What a passion the gentleman's in! ha, ha! [Laughs in a peevish Manner] promise him I'll not give up my judgment. Re-enter SIR CHARLES RACKET. Sir C. My lady Racket, lookye, ma'am― once more, out of pure good nature Lady R. Sir, I am convinc'd of your good nature. Sir C. That, and that only, prevails with me to tell you the club was the play. Lady R. Well, be it so I have no objection. Sir C. It's the clearest point in the world -we were nine, and Lady R. And for that very reason- you know the club was the best in the house. Sir C. There is no such thing as talking to |